


Milk

by Random_Planets (Gallifrean_assbutts_in221b)



Category: Game Grumps
Genre: M/M, Razzabang - Freeform, Smut, literally 3am when i wrote this, please don't look at me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-05 04:13:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1804912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gallifrean_assbutts_in221b/pseuds/Random_Planets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan’s not quite sure when this started, but now it’s nearly impossible to stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Milk

**Author's Note:**

> *David Tennant voice* I am so, so sorry.  
> Ok, so normally I don't really do RL shipping but...yeah...sorry. Don't judge. Needless to say, first work in this fandom. I thought I'd make it something sweet and incredibly cheesy. Sorry if it's a little rambling and repetitive. Again, 3am. Peace out.

Milk

 

“Barry, edit that out.”

“Barry, keep this in.”

“Barry! More wolfjob!”

It’s funny, really, because Dan’s not quite sure when this started, but now it’s nearly impossible to stop. Even when they’re not grumping he ends up talking to the editor in his head, as if he’s some ultra-creepy all-seeing eye. Not normal.

Like when he pours his cereal this morning.

“Aw, fuck,” he mutters, yawning as he peers into the fridge, “no milk.”

He slams the fridge door a little harder than intended, sending a slight shudder into his sock-clad feet. Wood floors and slippery socks are oft a bad combo, and so Danny finds himself on the floor with Cheerios scattered in a circle of collateral damage around him.

“Son of a bitch,” he groans, attempting to stand and incidentally losing his footing again to come crashing back down on top of his cereal bowl. “ _Ow_.”

He scratches his head, sighing. “Well, that was embarrassing.” Then chuckles. “Edit that out, Barry.”

It’s the sort of thing he now says all the time without even realizing. Only he’s been lucky so far that he mostly only says it when he’s alone.

“What?” says Barry through a mouthful of…something as he walks into the room in nothing but his boxers. Which definitely has no effect on Dan whatsoever.

“What?” Dan replies vaguely, still a little out of it from his fall.

“Thought I heard you say my name.”

“Oh.” Not blushing, no _way_ he is blushing right now. “Nah, man. Hey, can you get some milk later?”

Barry almost raises an eyebrow because this has been happening a lot lately. Where he could _swear_ he hears Dan saying his name from the other room, only to have it denied when he asks.

Maybe he’s just imagining it. Maybe he’s projecting. Maybe it’s a signal from his brain since that’s what he wants to hear and maybe—

Nope, not gonna go there.

(Not gonna think about the way Dan sayshis name. It’s weird; Jersey accents are supposed to be harsh and unattractive, and for the most part they are, but for some reason it’s endearing on Dan. Even a little adorable. He doesn’t say it the way most people do—“Bear-y.” Dan says “Bah-ry.” And Barry smiles every time he hears it, the way Dan’s lips shape the syllables. But then he stops smiling and starts being confused, because thinking about your roommate’s lips like that is just weird. And then he pushes it to the far corners of his mind and tries not to let it come out.)

Barry gives his head a tiny, infinitesimal little shake to clear it and blinks. It’s not something Dan would notice if he wasn’t staring at him so intently. Of course, then it occurs to him that they’ve locked eyes for way longer than socially acceptable, and he looks away, clearing his throat.

“You want 2% this time, or do I have to get skim again?”

Dan laughs uneasily. “We can compromise on the milk. I got what I wanted last time, so you go ahead with your 2%.”

“All right, Dan.”

(Incidentally, Dan also likes the way Barry says his name. It’s short and clipped, but somehow he can still fill that one narrow syllable with a whole lot of force. When he’s pissed—which is basically never—it’s like a one-note crescendo, which is pretty scary coming out of Barry, who can be surprisingly intimidating when he wants to, even though Dan’s taller. When he’s freaked out, it’s timid and small, which Dan hates because if something scares Barry then it’s usually worth being afraid of. And when he’s happy, when he’s laughing, when Dan cracks a joke on the couch and Barry guffaws so hard he drops the controller and almost knocks over the skittles, he fills it with so much affection Dan’s heart swells like a water balloon on a hose. _Definitely_ not normal.)

That night—or really, very early the next morning—Dan groggily swings his legs over the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes, and heads down the hall for a glass of water. Before he turns on any lights, he notices a small glow from across the room; Barry’s laptop is still on. He goes over to shut it, blowing out a breath, and jumps nearly an inch off the ground when something moves. The movement is accompanied by a snore, which solves that mystery immediately. Coming closer, Dan observes the man himself, hunched over the computer, drooling slightly on his keyboard, face illuminated by the glow of the screen. Chuckling softly to himself, Dan gently shakes Barry’s shoulder, ignoring a slight twinge of guilt at having to wake the guy. He doesn’t stir.

“Barry,” Dan whispers. Barry’s head lifts the tiniest bit, accompanied by a small, confused groan. Dan smiles. “Hey, Bar. Come on, you gotta get to bed.”

Unfortunately for Dan, Barry’s still mostly asleep, and there’s no way he can carry the guy, so he lets Barry lean heavily on him as they half-stumble back to his room. When he finally collapses into bed, Dan chuckles softly again and tucks him in like a kid.

Then, because he’s tired and not thinking straight and Barry’s out cold anyways, won’t remember any of this, and he can’t help himself, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to Barry’s forehead.

“Goodnight, Bar.”

If he was embarrassed of doing so, he would’ve gone red and thought _why’d you do that you idiot_ and probably murmured “edit that out, Barry.” Except the thing is—he’s not. He’s not ashamed of it. Maybe this thing, whatever it is, might be inconvenient and confusing as hell and scary at times, but honestly? Kissing Barry, even a little, even at all? He’ll keep that. So he’s not embarrassed. At least, not at the moment. At the moment, he just stumbles back to his own room and falls asleep almost immediately, smiling.

In the morning, Dan makes eggs and says “hey, man,” when Barry stumbles into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. “You had a pretty late one last night.”

“I guess so. Think I fell asleep editing,” he mumbles drowsily. “Not sure how I got back to bed.”

“Huh,” says Dan nonchalantly, trying not to sound too interested, even though some idiot part of him wants Barry to know that he cared enough to do what he did. But he keeps his trap shut.

It’s funny, really. Dan watches sometimes the way Arin acts around Suzy and finds himself slightly amazed. Maybe it’s naïve, since the two haven’t been married that long, but it’s not hard to tell that Arin is one of those guys who just really, _really_ loves his wife. Of course there are plenty of guys who love their wives, but frankly not a lot of them are as vocal or as sweet about it as Arin is. You can just tell that he _adores_ her, and sometimes, in his more idle moments, he finds himself a little jealous. He loves being single, he really does, but almost everybody wants that sort of thing for themself, whether or not they’ll admit it. Everybody wants to love and be loved that much by someone. It’s just hard to find.

The next few days pass without incident.

Then Dan, because Barry’s been out of town all weekend and _jesus_ , he didn’t realize he could miss someone that much, didn’t realize all the ways Barry has seeped into his head, so that when he’s not around Dan gets this constant nagging feeling in the back of his head, like when you know you’ve forgotten something important but have no clue what it is, and he keeps almost talking to the guy like he’s _there_ , which is fucking ridiculous, so he sits in the apartment by himself and settles in to get really, really drunk.

Barry walks in when it’s late and sees Dan sprawled in front of the TV. He turns his scruffy head and positively lights up when he sees the other man enter.

“Barry!” he calls incoherently, then repeats the word, just because he likes saying it. “Hey, Bar. Barry.”

A highly confused and wary editor sets his bags down and joins his roommate on the couch. “Hey, Dan…”

“Barry. You know, I—” he stops, unable to really continue with that line of thought, and then stutters out something like “you’re a really good editor, you know. I just…wanted to make sure you know you’re appreciated.” While blushing beet red. Barry got home a little early, so Dan didn’t have time to get as drunk as he’d planned; he’s more towards the tipsy ending of the scale, unfortunately.

Barry sits there and stares. Dan’s not really the type to get drunk unless something’s really bothering him. They may need to chat once he’s sober. But for now, he tries not to lean away from his roommate’s hot breath on his cheek too abruptly. He gets up slowly as Dan leans back on the couch, falling asleep.

As Barry retreats from the room, he calls out, a little desperately, “Barrybarrywait.”

He turns, and Dan says softly, “I missed you.”

Barry tries painfully to swallow despite the golf ball-sized lump that’s suddenly appeared in his throat. “You too,” he says, and leaves.

At least, that’s how it should’ve gone. What really happens is this:

Barry gets up, but he doesn’t so much retreat from the room as hover awkwardly beside the couch when Dan calls “Barrybarrywait.”

And when he says quietly, “I missed you,” Barry’s heart leaps out of his chest and lies on the floor, aching.

“You too,” he says, and, against his better judgment, sits back down.

And stares at his tipsy roommate, slightly bewildered, because this is one of those times when it just astounds him how Dan can be so fucking adorable and wildly sexy at the same time. Goofy-ass, skinny Dan, with his Jew-fro and his scruffy cheeks, and his lanky arms and his bony elbows. Charming, hilarious, sincere Dan, with his completely genuine _nice_ ness, his huge, infectious smile and his high laugh that makes Barry’s heart do things it hasn’t done since high school. Smart, enthusiastic, caring Dan, who always volunteers to do the laundry when Barry’s swamped with editing even though he _hates_ laundry, who never refuses to share anything, who helped Barry back to bed that night—because he does remember. He remembers being awakened by a gentle shake on his shoulder and the faint smell of Skittles, remembers being led back to his room in a daze, remembers those lips pressing softly against his forehead and the quiet, intimate, “Goodnight, Bar,” as his consciousness slipped away. He remembers.

And it’s killing him, because he doesn’t know what this is, and it scares the shit out of him, and he’s not sure either of them is really ready for it but he _knows_ somewhere that they’ve been dancing around it for ages.

And now Dan’s gazing back at him with all the calmness and all the affection in the world, unblinking, and Barry’s heart starts doing things again.

“Barry, listen, there’s some things…I think I should tell you.”

Barry tries not to stop breathing. 

“No, just—wait. I—I’m sorry, but this can’t…it just…I’m not ready for this, any of it. I can’t—I can’t do this.”

That’s what he _wants_ to say.

What comes out instead is, “Look, I…” and that’s as far as he gets before the words die in his throat because _fuck_ , this is too much, it’s too tempting when it’s right there and it’s all he can do not to lean in and kiss the man.

“I’ve been thinking,” Dan continues, as if uninterrupted, “and I just—I guess what I mean is that—you  and I…I thought that wasn’t ever a possibility. But it’s occurred to me that maybe…maybe we could work, Bar.”

A shiver runs down Barry’s spine. There space between them is down to a few inches now, and the air in that distance is electrified.

“D-Dan,” he manages, mouth suddenly dry.

Dan just stares back at him, and for a moment neither of them says anything, they just let the empty, darkened room do the talking, where the only sound is the insistent _tick tick tick_ of the wall clock.

Then Dan has a moment of _aw, fuck it_ , and leans in, closing the gap between their lips.

It’s tentative at first; Barry has plenty of time to lean away, but he can’t, he’s never known what being paralyzed felt like until right now, but _oh_ , Dan’s lips are soft and sweet and he opens his mouth, allowing Dan entry so he can run his tongue along the inside of Barry’s lips.

And then Barry reaches up, letting go, or rather holding on tight, tangling a fist in Dan’s hair, one hand splayed across his back, and Dan’s lanky arms and long fingers are _everywhere_ , saying _you’re mine, this is us, we’re an_ us _now_ , and Barry moans his name.

The next time he buys milk, it's skim.

**Author's Note:**

> Just once more-  
> \\{~sorry~}/


End file.
